Of Cartwheels and Such
Eden slept over on Friday night with Angelyne again. Giggling half the night, no doubt. And, unaccountably, they both elected to sleep on the floor, rather than on Angie's nice new double-size bed with its canopy top. New, I repeat, and not yet slept in, ever. Children are strange creatures. Quilts piled on the floor and mounds of pillows are somehow far more appealing to little girls than sedate old beds. Go figure.
They started a game of Monopoly after breakfast on Saturday. And the game went very well. For Angie, that is. She swiftly gained the upper hand, having had far more experience with the game than Eden, for we had taught our grandchild how to play long before her arithmetic abilities matched her eagerness to acquire properties. Eventually, she was permitted to act as banker during our games, and although neither she nor I ever managed to outdo her grandfather in the game of property-acquisition, she learned to aquit herself well.
When we arrived the game was still in progress, as they returned to it from time to time, breaking off their outdoor activities to prolong Eden's agony. They (that is, Angie's mother), had "borrowed" the tiny doglet named Hiccough from their neighbour and had taken it along with their own seven dogs, for a nice long hike on a trail new to them, just across the road from their own property. The girls semi-enjoyed the walk, but felt it was too long, too hot, too dare we say it? boring...
They'd just returned from this walk when we arrived. The girls appreciated the Madeleines I'd brought along. Baked the day before, as a special treat for Zayde, who made a special request for them. They're basically small white cakes baked in small oval pans with a ribbed pattern. When cool, they're rolled in raspberry jam (my own, preserved last summer), then dipped in coconut. They passed muster with Angelyne who is familiar with them, and Eden, who is not.
The girls challenged one another to races. Once around the house, first one back gets to plop in the garden chair. They continue racing and plopping until they're plumb tuckered out. Eden is almost as tall as Angelyne, but slighter in build. Angie is an only child, whereas Eden has teen-age brothers. She's the beloved baby girl in her family. She has developed all the characteristics of a typical Tom-boy, and we figure that's good for Angie. Eden wins every one of these impromptou races. Angie chugs along behind.
Angie is a tall and quite large child for her age. One would take her for at least twelve, rather than the soon-to-be ten that she really is. She has a thick mop of curly brown hair with natural henna highlights. Eden has an athletic build, and her hair hangs behind her, a thick, heavy rope of honey-blond. Dark clover honey. She tells me her mother sometimes makes raspberry jam, too.
The girls dive into the large garage and bring out a bicycle, and a scooter, and begin whooping about on both, exchanging them from time to time. They soon become bored and begin to experiment with calisthenics. Angie challenges Eden to turn cartwheels. Angie can't, always refused to let her uncle show her how, as he aptly demonstrated for her. But Eden turns very respectable cartwheels. Angie suggests she do some somersaults as well, although Angie eschews the counter-invitation.
Eden suddenly pulls the bottom half of her leg up toward the top half, folding the bottom half over the top, hugging her foot alongside her hip to demonstrate her mastery with a young and flexible body. Angie does likewise, and the two girls take turns, first with the left leg, then the right, almost flattening them against their sides. I'm impressed. I stand up and try this stunt myself, and I'm surprised that I can do it, although I know my leg isn't as flat against my body as theirs is, and that I look pretty silly.
"Now then, girls" I say, "which of you can touch your toes?". "Even better", I tell them, "how about placing the palm of your hands flat in front of you without bending your legs?". Angie groans. She knows what's coming. She offers a respectable attempt at touching her toes, but falls short by about four inches. She tries again and almost makes it, but not quite. Eden, surprisingly, cannot even touch as far down as Angie has managed. I casually bend forward, touch my toes. Bend again, and place the palms of my hands flat on the ground before me. The girls look at me, a 69-year-old grandmother, a little perplexed, slightly disgusted.
Show off!
posted by Pieface @ Monday, May 01, 2006
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